The virus among us

Krider's sickness gets messy--really messy

By ROB KRIDER

I was a good boy this year. I did the preventative maintenance thing for my body. I ate a few fruits and vegetables, I lost a little weight, and I even braved the needle and got a flu shot. I was a pillar of good health. OK, it may be a bit of a stretch to say I was an example of healthy living, since sucking down Pepsis and wolfing Snickers bars while on road trips is my dirty little secret.

Regardless of my tiny junk food addiction, I was trying to be more healthy and to take care of myself (by taking a few less road trips). Which is why you can imagine my confusion when I found myself awake in the middle of the night with abdominal pains, a fever, and the sudden urgency to get to the bathroom IMMEDIATELY! Things only went down from there.

Regardless of my attempts to be healthy, somehow I picked up an evil little virus of some sort, the sort that tries to drain you from the inside. My body, in an attempt to save my life, did what it could to destroy the evil little virus. My body raised its temperature, made me feel bad enough to slow down to get some rest, and then it did the next best thing it could: Evacuation. Full, projectile evacuation, from both ends, simultaneously.

Sorry, folks, this isn’t a pretty subject. Trust me: There was nothing pretty about what I was going through. Regardless of the lack of beauty, this was happening to me QUICKLY, and I had to make an instant decision. I needed to vomit, I needed to evacuate my bowels, and these two things wanted to happen RIGHT NOW! I was in my bathroom stripping off my underwear so fast the Man of Steel himself would have been impressed with the speed at which I disrobed. Even though I needed to do two things at once, the toilet could only handle one job at a time. So what was it going to be? What would end up in the toilet, and what would end up who knows where? It wasn’t an easy decision. Both options had their pros and cons. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to make a list. Instead, I decided that it would be the best for everyone on the planet (especially for my family, who lives with me) if I sat down on the toilet immediately. Things started happening as I was still squatting downward. I had chosen wisely. There was still the pressing matter of my stomach pushing up and out on its contents. Luckily, there was a small garbage can next to our commode, so I grabbed that for the other thing I had to do and then I got busy making a very big splash. I can only describe it as violent and somewhat amazing.

When I throw up, I do it very loudly and publicly. I don’t know why, nor do I have any reasonable explanation of this phenomenon. I have been doing this my whole life. When something is coming up from my tummy, I feel the need to yell and wail to help things along. This causes quite a ruckus at 4 in the morning when my family is trying to sleep and I am making clubbed seal noises in the bathroom. This commotion woke up my wife, whom I love.

My wife wasn’t concerned with my health; she didn’t care if I was dying. All she wanted to know were the answers to following questions:

1. Why did I wake her up in the middle of the night?

2. Why was I naked?

3. Why did it smell so badly in “her” house?

4. Why was I hugging the bathroom garbage can?

She stood at the bathroom doorway waiting for an explanation. Instead of getting involved in an interrogation about what I considered an obvious situation, my body reacted to her lack of compassion by exploding in both directions right in front of her. She got the unique opportunity to witness one of life’s strangest moments.

“Disgusting!”

“I’m not doing this for the fun of it, Honey.”

“I don’t think you have to be so gross while you do it.”

“I’m sick. I can’t help it. But do you realize in a gravity-free situation like on the International Space Station I would remain in a static state by blowing up on two ends of my body at once?”

“Gross!”

Did my wife ask me if I was OK, or if I needed anything? Nope. As she left me with myself, my throne, and my garbage can, all she said was, “You’re going to clean that garbage can!”

My virus stayed with me for about five days. My wife left with the kids after only the first day. “You are just too gross to live with. We’ll come home when you’re better.” I didn’t have the luxury of leaving the house. Really, I didn’t have the luxury of leaving a 20-foot radius around the toilet for three days. I recall our wedding vows saying something about “in sickness and in health.” I guess my wife has decided one out of two is all I’m going to get.

Rob couldn’t leave the house and was left home to fend for himself. He wondered if the pizza delivery boy would deliver a pizza and maybe a case of toilet paper.